In the hand of God

In traveling, I have have come across landmarks and historical sights, those places marked with a special tribute, statue, or other monument that describes what important thing happened right here. In those moments I find myself crashing between the past, present, and future - right here in this very spot is where Paul Revere grew up, and this is where the Bunker Hill Battle took place. I wonder what is was like before that event happened, what was it like during the event and I wonder if they had any idea what that moment would mean to the future.

Trenton and I have been working to gather all the documents for our dossier for Ethiopia, all the legal documents required by Ethiopia. Today they were finally all together, all of those documents bundled in a neat little package. Who knew you could become so emotionally attached to paper! I can't tell you how many times I double, triple and quadruple checked the list of required documents. Trenton took the package to work one day and forgot to bring it home - my stomach felt like he had forgotten to pick up the children from daycare, ok, I am exaggerating, but you get the point. So, today was the big day. That pack of paper had to be delivered to our agency - copies of our birth certificates, and marriage license, medical and financial documents, reference letters and so on (yes I have the list memorized, but I will spare you the pain). If I haven't mentioned it there are some "negligible fees" required when adopting a child, those money orders and checks were also accounted for repeatedly. Each piece of paper lined up like a brigade of military soldiers. All in a row, all accounted for, neatly in a line, and ready for duty.

I got in the car with my beloved pack of papers, and two cloned packs for back up, just in case. My pack of papers and me, we got in the car and we travel to the mecca, the agency. Upon arrival at the agency the nice young man behind the counter ensured me that he would get my documents to my "Country Specialist". Seriously, would you take your child and drop him off with the receptionist when you really want him to see the doctor? "Oh, no'" I reassured him, "I will wait for my specialist." He tried again to encourage me to leave the documents with him, but I insisted that I would only leave the papers with someone I knew. I recommended he find my social worker, I said I would be happy to leave the papers with her. He must deal with people like me on a regular basis, he didn't blink but proceeded to page my social worker. I was so happy to see her. "Can you take my dossier?" She took it, and now we wait.

The papers are like the landmark or historical site. The papers don't mark a place, but they do mark a point in time. Today I wonder where my child is. Before the papers, before we decided to start this journey, I wonder what journey my child is on and where our paths will meet. When will our journey into the future begin.

Based on time estimates for families waiting for children from Ethiopia and the fact that we are open to adopting a child up to the age of 4 or 5, it seems very very likely that our child is presently sharing this small planet with us today. He is on his own journey and he is going to experience the wonderful experience of being with his family, learning his culture, learning who he is. He is partaking in his culture and learning to be proud of who he is and where he came from.

But soon, too soon by any definition, circumstances in her life will change. My heart is so incredibly sad that my child is about to experience loss. Neither I, nor her birth family, all of the people that want to love and support her, can protect her from the pain she is about to experience. In trying to provide the best for her, we will thrust this painful experience upon her.

Such a brave little soul, may she rest in the hand of God.